


you're only as good as you like

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, falling in love with your best friend's partner au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: “Goodnight, Harry.”“Night, Allie.”He’s left alone in the quiet of the kitchen, and when he hears her going up the stairs, he rests his hands on the counter and hangs his head. He needs to stop all this, honestly. He can like her and get along with her and not wonder why Will’s the lucky one who got to meet her first.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	you're only as good as you like

Harry’s known Will since they were kids. Seriously, they were like, nine years old and both the fastest runners in their grade, so they got sort of forced into track and field. Harry eventually switched to cross country before dropping out of sports completely when he was 12, and Will could never afford the registration fees for meets that weren’t part of school, so he stopped, too. 

Harry’s mom has always been properly good and scandalized that he’d choose a best friend who lived in the foster system. As if that’s Will’s fault, somehow.

It’s not like they’ve never butted heads. Will likes to tell Harry all the areas in which he could improve himself. Which is like, fine. Mostly. Now. But it always smarts a bit and he usually overreacts until they talk about it more. Or at least that’s what he used to do. He’s a little more self aware now. And Harry calls Will on his sometimes truly fake self-righteousness. Like, sometimes the guy wants to do good just cause he thinks that’s what he should do, not because it’s genuinely what he should do. It’s always bugged the shit out of Harry when that’s the case. Like the time after Harry found out his mom had been fucking around on his dad and Will had said, “Don’t you think she deserves to be happy?” Shit like that. 

They went to different colleges, Will going to this place in Pennsylvania for food studies or history of food. Harry thinks, actually, it was sort of both. And Harry went to Cornell and slogged it out in fucking Ithaca for four years for undergrad. They both decide to move to New York afterward, Will going to a culinary institute to learn how to actually cook, and Harry going to Stern for a dual JD/MBA, because he’s truly a masochist, or something. Anyway, they moved in together because it makes sense. Mostly for Will, to be honest. Harry moved into the family place in the city on the Upper West, and it’s three bedrooms so it’s not a big deal for Will to live in one. He wanted to pay rent, but like, for what? This place has been paid off for like, 20 years probably. Harry sort of thinks living rent-free in New York is the best gift he could ever give his friend to help him out, you know? Build wealth, or at least have a fucking shot at it.

Now, Harry’s working in operations at a law firm and getting paid handily to do so, and Will’s got a job as an editor at large for a food website, plus his own YouTube channel, and Harry’s trying to get him to write a book. They’re sort of good. The more people he meets and talks to, the more he realizes how it’s pretty rare to still be this close with your best friend from childhood. 

When Will starts dating this girl named Allie that he met through a friend of a friend, Harry sort of only half pays attention. Not because he’s an asshole, but because Will can do what he wants, and he also has a habit of getting excited about people too quickly and then losing interest just as fast. 

Harry’s not saying he’s never done the same thing, he’s just saying he’s a little quieter about it. He thinks the main difference between them is that Will always wants to act like he’s ready for commitment, but then bails. Harry just never really lets on that’s what he’s in it for until that’s the case; he doesn’t lead people on. Like with Kelly, who he met at Stern and they sort of actually _dated_ before they even slept together because Harry liked her so much. Then they were together for over a year before they ended it. 

Harry’s not saying it makes Will an asshole to do things the way he does; he’s not doing it on purpose. He just thinks it’s sort of worse to not be transparent and to instead lead a girl on. And for this to be his pattern and to keep doing it anyway.

But they’re out one night and this girl hits on Will and he says he has a girlfriend, so what the fuck does Harry know about anything, honestly?

… … ...

The first time he meets Allie, he’s coming home from work really late and hears someone in the kitchen. Figuring it’s Will, he goes to say hey. But it’s definitely not Will. No, it’s this hot blonde wearing Will’s shirt and what looks like nothing else, filling two water glasses at the fridge and looking out the window to the backyard. 

Harry clears his throat and she jumps, scared, and turns around. Her cheeks are already pink. He just tilts his head as he leans his shoulder against the doorway. 

Look, he’s not gonna say her name, because what if this isn’t Allie, you know? He’s not gonna create any drama by making assumptions. 

He’s glad he checked her out before she noticed him, ‘cause he knows it’d be tacky to do it now, when she’s staring right at him. 

“Hi,” he says, and he sees the time on the oven clock. The fact that he was at work buried in spreadsheets and Will was home with this girl in his bed is… He’s a little envious. A lot envious “Harry.”

She smiles like she knows. “Allie.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. She’s like, really pretty. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to walk in and see this.”

His brow goes up and he cannot help the way his eyes drop to her legs. “Can’t say I was expecting it, either.”

She laughs, which he appreciates. He’s not hitting on her, he’s just having a little fun and also hoping it puts her at ease, which he thinks it does. And if she thinks he’s not going to look when she shifts her weight a little bit, rests all of it on one leg and the other knee moves and bends a little…

Yeah, no. Let him stop looking. 

“You staying the night?” he asks, and then realizes this, too, might put Will in a weird spot. Whatever, though. The guy can be a grown up and deal with the consequences of his actions. 

Allie looks like she’s trying not to smile too widely. “To be determined.”

Harry laughs a little and pushes off the door frame. He really wants to heat up some leftovers - whatever it is Will probably left in the fridge for him - and get out of his suit. He walks past Allie and he knows she’s watching him. 

“Good luck with that,” he says, and does his best not to make it sound shitty. Will won’t care if she stays and he’s not trying to make it sound like he will. 

She heads for the stairs and says, over her shoulder, “I’m pretty persuasive.” 

Harry thinks about that too long to be considered appropriate.

… … ...

He’s properly introduced to her the next day, a Saturday, when he comes downstairs, enticed by the smell of coffee and something sweet. Will makes the intro and Harry catches Allie’s eye over his coffee cup and he wonders why she didn’t say anything to Will about last night. It’s stupid and inconsequential, but he’s curious about it anyway. 

He says, “Nice sweater,” absolutely in reference to the fact that she definitely wasn’t wearing this hoodie last night. He doesn’t need to do this. 

Allie gives him a look he can’t decode and asks Will how long till the waffles are ready. 

… … ...

They end up in the park - like everyone else - the first genuinely nice day of the year. He wasn’t planning on going anywhere except maybe the backyard, but yeah, that thing Allie said about being persuasive is true, apparently. He acts like he’s put out as he puts his shoes on, grabs a book and locks the door behind them, but he really doesn’t mind. It grates a little the way Will and Allie hold hands and make it super clear to everyone that Harry’s third wheeling, but that’s just his insecurity at work and not their fault. 

They sit for an hour, or something, and Harry pulls his sweater off and Will proclaims this iced tea weather and asks if they’re okay alone if he goes off in search of some. They’re adults and there’s no reason they can’t be left together for like, a half hour.

“I love summer so much,” she says, head tipped back, sunglasses on, her yellow sundress halfway up her thighs. Harry’s staring. 

“It’s May.”

“I _said_ ,” she laughs, then looks at him, tips her sunglasses up, “I love summer so much.”

He doesn’t know how that’s an actual response to what he’s said, but it makes him laugh because she’s fucking adorable. 

He’s been thinking it for weeks. Since that first meeting, then breakfast, then her caught in the rain and getting to his place at the same time as him. Her mascara was streaking down her face and she’d laughed about it and Will had gotten her a towel to dry off. Harry’d retreated to his office to pretend to work and really just watch Netflix at his desk as they camped out in the living room with homemade hot chocolate. And then just the other day when she’d been trying to get the coffee maker working and he’d heard her curse under her breath and went over to help her while Will was out getting fresh fruit for breakfast. Harry’s chest had brushed her shoulder as he reached past her for a mug, and she’d done that thing where she looks down and pushes her hair back. So. 

He’s not trying to do anything. He’s not _trying_. He just...likes her more than he’s liked any of the other girls Will’s dated. (And, fuck, maybe more than he’s liked any of the other girls he’s dated, himself. But that’s an insane thought, because he definitely doesn’t _know_ her.) 

“What do you love about summer?” he asks, and lies down on his side next to her, props himself up on his elbow.

“Wearing less clothing,” she answers easily, and Harry just stares a moment and then looks away, opens his mouth to say something. But _what_? Allie lets out a little laugh. “Stop.” He glances back up at her. “I know exactly what you’re thinking about.” Well fuck. If that’s true… Yeah, she looks at him softly and there’s no fucking doubt she knows he’s thinking of her in a hell of a lot less than she’s even wearing right now. “You’re not sly.”

He grins. “I’m actually pretty sly.” Allie lets out a laugh, proving his point. “How come you didn’t tell him about the kitchen?”

She tilts her head a little, brow going up. “Was there something to tell?” she asks, which is sort of fair, if not really an answer. “Other than you blatantly checking me out despite knowing who I was.”

There’s a shitty comment right on the tip of his tongue about her not being the first girl Will’s ever brought home, but it feels unnecessarily mean and also not at all the point. 

She’s absolutely called him on checking her out, which means she’s probably noticed that he’s done it since then, too. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, which doesn’t really make sense as a response to what she’s said, but like, he’s pretty sure they’re speaking the same language here anyway. 

He tries not to read into the fact that she doesn’t answer right away. That she seems to consider it. That she tips her head back again, her face in the sun when she says, “It’s probably better in the long run if you do.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. He’s not gonna argue or whatever, because she’s right. Obviously, she’s right. Will’s his best friend, not to mention roommate. There’s no way Harry should be hung up on her. Not that he’s hung up. He just can’t let it happen. 

But it’s pretty interesting that she doesn’t say she wants him to stop, just that he should. Yeah, very interesting. 

She asks him about the book he’s reading. He assumes she’ll find it boring, but she mentions having read one by another author on the same topic, and recommends it as a follow up. She asks him his opinion on certain pieces of the theory, and that’s when he learns she’s got an MBA, too. He knew she worked at some tech company, but he didn’t know what her job was. Their work isn’t that similar, but there are enough overlaps that Harry feels sort of good about the way they can talk about it. 

When Will comes back with a tray of ice teas for each of them, plus some snacks, he sort of rolls his eyes when he overhears the topic of conversation. He kisses Allie’s forehead and she changes the subject to this documentary series she’s heard really good things about. Harry doesn’t say anything. He catches her eye when Will’s looking off at some guys playing spikeball. She just blinks slowly but doesn’t break eye contact. He doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but he doesn’t look away, either.

… … ...

He’s doing the dishes because he’s both not a jerk and also hates having pots and pans in the sink. Look, Will does most of the cooking around here. He works mostly from home when he’s not traveling, and he’s, you know, a trained chef. Harry also works stupid hours because he’s a bit of a workaholic and also doesn’t have a real reason or excuse not to at this point. He doesn’t typically like to take advice from his mother, but she told him to get his hours in now before he has a family, and that sort of makes sense to him. 

It’s late because he had a late meeting and then work to do as a result of it, and there was a plate for him in the fridge when he got home. They have a dishwasher, but Will’s particular about the cookware. There’s not much to do, so Harry just rolled up his sleeves to get it done after he’d finished eating. Mostly so he can make himself one of those wind down teas his therapist recommended he try and are actually working, and go to his room and not leave it again. 

He doesn’t hear Allie come into the kitchen, so when she appears next to him it scares the fuck out of him. He drops the dutch oven into the water, which splashes up a little and soaks his forearm. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out. “Announce yourself next time.” 

She smiles a little and looks a little devious, or something. Which is hot on her. Of course it is. “We’re even, then,” she says, and god, they’ve really gotta stop referring to that first meeting. He’s about to say something about it, but she grabs the tea towel from where it hangs on the oven door, and reaches for a pot lid to start drying. “Good day?”

Harry ignores how domestic this is, picks up the pot again and continues washing. He nods, says, “Yeah. Just long.”

She laughs softly. “I mean, it’s not like they chain you to the desk. Will says you work more than anyone he knows, and he doesn’t know how to get you to take it easy.”

Harry can’t really think of a response to that that sounds healthy. 

So he says, “We can’t all be YouTube famous,” and Allie looks at him like that was sort of shitty. “Come on. You know what it’s like.” She doesn’t say anything, reaches for another item to dry. “And I like my work.”

She’s smiling, looking down. Her hair’s sort of different than it usually is. Straighter, or something. “I really like my work, too.”

He thinks of last weekend in the park, and wonders why she changed the subject when Will came back. Like, Will isn’t dumb. He can hang in conversations about business operations, economics and sometimes law. Harry really hopes Allie’s not one of those girls who thinks they have to make themselves small to make sure they don’t intimidate a guy.

Instead of asking that burning question flat out, he says, “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” and Allie laughs like she wasn’t expecting that. 

“A COO.”

Yeah, a woman this confident doesn’t shrink for some dude. Harry wonders what that’s about then. 

“Not CEO?” he asks, brow raised. She takes the next item to dry right from his hand before he can put it on the rack. 

She scrunches her nose cutely. “Too much pressure. I like being the one to make everything go. I’m not really a visionary, but I know how to get shit done.”

Harry rests his hand on the edge of the sink, watching her. He smiles a little, quietly, and really thinks she’s something else. 

“I bet you do.” It’s too soft, too much, and Allie just gets this really pretty look on her face but doesn’t make eye contact with him. “I wanna make a shit ton of money before I’m like, 35, and just be a VC.”

She laughs pretty loudly, then nods. “That seems on brand for you.” He doesn’t know what that means. They sort of barely know each other. “I mean, what I’ve learned so far, and the fact that you own this house, and...I can just see it.”

He smirks at her. “Freedom 35.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “And I don’t own the place. My family does. Which...yeah, I know it’s like, six of one, half dozen of the other. But I don’t own anything.”

“Mhm,” she says dubiously, then swats him with the towel. “I’m sure you aren’t investing all the money you’re _not_ spending to live in this expensive ass city.” Okay, guilty. “I live with my sister.” 

“Oh yeah?”

Allie nods, and he hands her the last pot and lets the water out. She holds out the towel so he can dry his hands. It’s such an easy thing, the way she does it, almost like they’ve choreographed it. Harry focuses on rinsing the soap down the drain instead of this rhythm they have. 

“She’s a lawyer. Our place is really small, but we’re sort of refusing to move so we can both save as much as possible.” He nods. He sort of wants a drink. An alcoholic one. He sort of wants to pour a glass and sit down with her in the living room. He knows that’s not on the table. He knows damn well he shouldn’t want it. “We grew up pretty well off, but not like, townhouse on the Upper West well off.”

Harry rolls his eyes, fights a smile. “Not everyone’s great great grandparents cashed in on the gold rush, I guess. Hardly feels like my fault.”

She laughs again, swats him with the towel and then hangs it back up again. She glances over at the stuff she dried just sitting atop the kitchen island. She makes a cute little cringey face.

“Sorry. I don't know where anything goes.”

Harry shakes his head. “I got it,” he says quietly. 

She nods and tells him she just came down for water and got distracted. Then her cheeks go a little pink and Harry thinks that’s interesting and very attractive. He’s assuming he was the distraction, and it wasn’t the task. She fills a glass and leans her hip against the counter as he puts things away. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

He looks over at her, and fuck, she’s just…

“Night, Allie.”

He’s left alone in the quiet of the kitchen, and when he hears her going up the stairs, he rests his hands on the counter and hangs his head. He needs to stop all this, honestly. He can like her and get along with her and not wonder why Will’s the lucky one who got to meet her first. 

… … …

He meets Claire at happy hour and she gives him her number as easily as he thought she would. After messaging back and forth for about a week, flirting and all that because like, obviously, he invites her to meet him near his place for a drink. It turns into two drinks, and then he’s telling her his place is close if she’s interested, and she’s sliding off her bar stool and looking hot as she does it. 

He doesn’t feel even a little badly when he opens his front door and lets her in ahead of him, telling her to head up the stairs to her left. Allie and Will are on the sofa in the living room. It smells like popcorn and there’s a movie on. Will tips his head back, looks at Harry. Allie turns her head to see him, then she looks at Claire, and she pushes her hair behind her ear as she turns back around. Harry...okay, it’s not that he feels badly, but he feels something. 

“Roommates?” Claire asks as he pushes the door closed to his room. 

He says, “Sure,” as he stands in front of her and puts his hands on her hips. 

Whatever. 

In the morning, he walks her out, a little put out by the fact she stayed all night. But he’s not a proper bastard, so he didn’t kick her out of his bed when they were done. She’d gotten dressed quietly just now as he lay in bed watching her, and then told him she’d had fun and they should do it again sometime, and that he could walk her out if he wanted to. 

He does, kisses her forehead at the door and tells her to get home safely. She heads down the steps, and when he turns around, Allie’s standing there in the hallway in this knit sweater and a pair of jeans, a cup of tea in her hands. She’s watching him. He doesn’t know what she’s trying to communicate with the look on her face, but it’s not nothing.

The way she says, “She seems nice,” is snotty and irritating, and Harry rolls his eyes so hard his whole head moves. 

“You wanna vet all the girls I bring over now?” he asks, and it’s shitty instead of funny, which was his intent. He’s not sure how he missed it sounding that way, but here they are. 

Allie sort of narrows her eyes like he’s being an asshole. As if she’s not the one who started this shit in the first place with that comment. 

“I didn’t realize you had _all_ the girls,” she says, and yeah, somehow she’s pulled them back to joking. He doesn’t know how she did it. Maybe because she’s got nothing to lose here. 

He absolutely shouldn’t rub his hand over the back of his neck and say, “Not all,” as he looks at her. 

Because that’s crazy, right? That’s stupid. He literally hooked up with someone last night and it had nothing to do with Allie, and he barely _knows_ Allie, and this is...He just needs to stop. This is getting out of control. Just because she’s attractive and they’ve had a couple decent conversations doesn’t mean fucking anything. 

He walks up the stairs without giving her a chance to respond. She follows. He’s pretty sure he closes his bedroom door at the same time she closes Will’s. 

… … …

Will smokes a brisket using this method he’s really excited about, and Harry buys a bottle of this bourbon he thinks will go with it. Allie’s away visiting her family for a weekend, and Harry doesn’t miss her. 

He thinks of her. Wants her. But that’s not new. He thinks this all the time, even when she’s right in front of him. Her not being here doesn’t change any of that. 

He rolls a joint after dinner, when he’s just a little buzzed and the backyard is washed in late evening sunlight. Will’s sitting there, head tipped back against his chair, rocks glass in hand. He doesn’t smoke, so Harry doesn’t have to share. Which is kind of nice. He does top up their glasses, though. 

Harry’s exhaling when Will asks, “What do you think of Allie?”

Harry laughs. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Will laughs. “She’s great, right?”

For some reason, it makes Harry deflate a little. He knows it makes him a complete dick to almost wish this was the conversation they’ve had before about other women. The one where Will says he’s just not sure he’s feeling it. This really doesn’t seem like that, and Harry, for some reason, didn’t realize until this second that yeah, this thing he has for Allie isn’t only physical. Like, he knew it. In theory. But now…

Now, he’s basically hearing Will dash any even distant hope that things would cool down and Harry might be able to, in time, call her, or something. 

What the fuck is he talking about? There’s literally no way this was ever going to go the way he wanted it to. He never should’ve let it get even this far. Which is just that he thinks she’s fucking gorgeous and they can sort of connect. It doesn’t mean anything more than that. He’s gotta sort his shit out and get over this crush. That’s what it feels like. A crush. And he’s too old to entertain one of those.

“Yeah, she’s great,” he agrees. He takes another hit to buy time. “Why are you asking?”

Will shrugs, this little smile on his lips. “It feels different with her.”

Harry blows smoke out above him in a stream, watches it until it disappears. 

… … ...

Allie’s sitting atop the kitchen counter, mug of tea in her hands, bright smile on her face. Harry’s leaning against the counter far enough away to be considered appropriate, as Will makes them all grilled cheese sandwiches. 

It’s like, 3:00am, and they’re all a little drunk because Will had suggested they try this place he’s heard of that has one of the best mixologists in the city and a good DJ and a crowded dance floor. Harry’s interested in only one of those things, but he hasn’t been out like that in forever, so he decided to go. He didn’t know they’d end the night like this. 

This, being Allie in her little high waisted shorts, floral flowing tank top that kept showing skin every time she moved. Not that he was _staring_ , but he noticed, okay? She pulled her hair up before they even left the house. They’d been drinking cheap beer in the backyard to get a buzz they could maintain. 

This, being Allie sitting on his countertop, looking at him because Will’s back is turned and she’s mostly just talking to Harry anyway. 

This, being him thinking it’s actually fucking adorable that she’d insisted on a cup of _tea_ after a night of drinking too much and dancing wildly in a place that’s too hot in the middle of June. She’s a horrible dancer. Harry’d thought she looked good anyway. He’d liked the way she’d grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dancefloor when some Ariana Grande song came on, mixed with the end of some EDM track. He’d liked the way she’d looked into his eyes, then, when Will was off getting them another round. Like she liked dancing with Harry. 

“I’m serious,” she says, laughing, and Harry snaps back into focus. 

Right. This conversation. 

“It seems messy.” 

Will laughs at that. Harry doesn’t know why it’s funny. 

“She’s great. And she’s so pretty. Seriously.” Harry takes a deep breath, plays with his glass of water. “You’ve seen pictures.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty,” he says, mostly to appease her. “I think it’s fucked up to go on a date with your sister. What if I don’t like her?”

Allie rolls her eyes dramatically, the way only someone really drunk would actually do. It’s a little cartoonish. 

Will cuts the first sandwich in half, gives Harry one piece and Allie the other. She locks eyes with Harry as she takes a bite. Then she’s laughing again because the cheese is too hot and she opens her mouth, her hand waving cool air in front of her face. Harry smiles, looks down. He shouldn’t find that cute. It’s absolutely fucking ridiculous to find that cute. 

He’s just drunk. 

“Everyone likes her. She’s the best.” 

Without thinking about it for even a fraction of a second, he asks, “Better than you?” 

Will’s not looking at them, which is a really, really good thing. Harry’s just staring at her, realizing what he’s implied there. Allie looks across the kitchen, her face softening, her eyes all shiny under the overhead light. She looks all at once flattered and something else entirely. 

“That’s what they tell me,” she says, and it’s sort of _sad_. 

Will’s eyes slide toward Harry as if to ask if he _meant_ to do that. To upset her. Harry realizes he’s hit on a nerve that’s maybe a little exposed, and Will knew about it and Harry didn’t. Then Will looks at Allie, turning his body towards her. Harry can’t see the look Will gives her, but she smiles gently and reaches over, sets her hand on his cheek. Then she’s laughing again because she’s left a greasy mark on Will’s skin. 

Harry, when she meets his eyes again, looks at her hoping she can see his apology there. She must. She nods just gently and pushes her hair behind her ear. She takes another bite of her sandwich, the bread crunching loudly between her teeth. Will uses mayo on the outside of the bread. Harry had been skeptical, but it’s fucking delicious. 

“Will you meet her?” Allie asks, and Harry sees the hope in her eyes and he thinks maybe it’s incredibly fucked up, but if Allie is this great, her sister has to be, too, right?

Actually, if he’s being honest, he just thinks she looks pretty and pleading and like there’s nothing more in the world she wants than for him to say yes. 

So he nods, and says, “Sure,” and then she’s smiling like she’s pleased, and Harry has to get the fuck out of here. 

He takes his half of the sandwich, holds it up in thanks, and says he’s going to bed. 

He lies in the dark and closes his eyes when he hears them coming upstairs, Allie giggling softly and telling Will, “Shh. Harry’s sleeping.” 

… … …

This is a fucking disaster. 

Like, he pressed a shirt for this, and Cassandra’s sitting across from him with her arms folded over her chest, her legs crossed and hips turned just a little bit away from the table, her leg swinging a bit into the aisle of the restaurant. Harry thinks it’s shitty that she’s making the servers walk around her. 

Allie’s next to her sister. Harry doesn’t know how they got here. It’s literally been 15 minutes. 

It’s just really clear Cassandra has about as much interest in getting to know Harry as he does in getting to know her. Difference is, he knows his reasons, and hers seem to be completely based on...what, exactly? Nothing? How he looks? Like, get real.

Harry decides to just eat his dim sum and try to be as polite as possible. He asks her about her job. She works at this human rights firm he knows of. He doesn’t know a lot about this area of practice, but he knows enough about the law to ask questions that don’t make him sound like an idiot. 

When they’re walking after dinner, off to get a drink at this sangria place nearby that Allie swears is amazing and has great little snacks for sharing, Harry sticks his hands in his pockets as he and Cassandra walk side by side, with Allie and Will ahead. 

“Hey, so. Not interested?” he asks, because it’s kind of funny, okay? This whole thing. She’s not hiding it and his feelings aren’t hurt. They’re just tagging along on Allie and WIll’s date, basically, instead of having one of their own. 

Cassandra laughs. Allie looks over her shoulder, then turns back around. “It’s not you,” she says, and Harry chuckles. He’s literally never heard anyone actually say those words outside the context of a movie. “I mean, probably not. I just...I got out of a four year relationship recently and I’m really not ready for this.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, and Cassandra smiles a little. “So she’s actually just as persuasive as she says she is?”

Cassandra gives him a strange look. “I wouldn’t say persuasive,” she argues, gently. Harry doesn’t get that. Doesn’t understand. “She just wants the best for everyone. It’s never for her own benefit. Sometimes it’s to her detriment, actually.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he knows he’s staring at Cassandra. She doesn’t elaborate, and he just isn’t gonna let that slide. “What does that mean?”

Cassandra seems to be considering her words really carefully, then glances at him, this small little smile on her face. Harry’s almost afraid for what comes next. 

“She knows what she wants, but she overthinks it. Puts everything else ahead of her own stuff, then has a convenient excuse for not having gotten her way.” 

Shit. Harry wonders if Cassandra’s had therapy. Because that’s some straight up therapy-style analysis of a person. Maybe, though, she just knows Allie best. 

“She should cut that out.”

Cassandra laughs softly, crosses her arms again and looks down. Harry’s watching Allie as she walks ahead of him, her arm linked through Will’s. 

It sounds really, really heavy when Cassandra says, “The things she wants scare her.” He tears his eyes away. He’s actually really fucking familiar with that feeling, too. “You know, Harry?”

He nods dumbly. He thinks she’s trying to tell him something. If he lets himself think of it too hard, he’s going to do something really fucking stupid. 

… … …

He ends up with Allie’s number in his phone when she decides it’s weird that they haven’t exchanged them yet. He doesn’t do anything with it. He thinks if she were literally any other girl, he’d say something flirtatious as their first message and see how she reacted. Now, though, he doesn’t even open his messages and try to type something out. 

She texts him first. She tells him she’s coming over after brunch with her friend and she might beat Will there, so she just wanted Harry to know. He sends back a thumbs up. He goes to his office before she arrives, so that he can say he’s in the middle of something he has to get back to. 

It works.

He’d rather be with her. 

… … …

He can’t sleep, which is normal for him when the temperature breaks 100. Even with the AC on, he finds it too hot to sleep at night, but he also needs the comfort of blankets on top of him because he’s basic and predictable with how his anxiety issues manifest. He’s stripped down completely with just a sheet over him and still feels like he’s overheating. And maybe it’s weird, but he hates it when the house is all closed up, all the windows locked tight to keep the hot air out. It feels stale and stuffy in a way that he’s never gotten used to. 

It’s well after 1:00am when he finally thinks he’s gonna just toss and turn forever and he needs to reset a bedtime routine, or something. He needs cold water and to stretch his legs and then try again in a little bit. He puts on shorts and a tee shirt and heads for the door with his empty glass in hand.

Before he’s even at the top of the stairs, he can see light flickering from the living room, and he wonders who’s up. He hears the theme to Ru Paul’s Drag Race and smiles a little, knowing it’s got to be Allie. 

She’s on the sofa, sitting sort of slouched, her feet up on the coffee table, twirling her hair around her finger as her elbow rests along the back of the couch. She hears him come down, turns and smiles when she sees that it’s him and not Will. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, and she shrugs her shoulder. “Water?”

She nods instead of saying anything, and he pours her some ice water from the fridge door, brings it back to the living room and sits down next to her. 

“I had a nightmare,” she says without him having asked. “That someone shot Cassandra. It’s this recurring thing I have? Usually in the spring, but...I don’t know. I just can’t get back to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he croaks out, studying her profile. She’s looking at the television, not at him. “Understandable.”

“You?”

“I’m too fucking hot.”

She smiles, then looks like she’s trying to hide it. Interesting. He wouldn’t have thought anything into that reaction at all - wouldn’t have thought she was calling him hot - if she hadn’t tried to walk it back. He’s not stupid and he knows how most people their age see him, so it’s not like it’s a surprise. Still feels good, though. It feels different when you _want_ someone to be attracted to you.

“Wanna watch something else?” she asks, nudging the remote that’s sitting between them towards him. 

Harry shakes his head. “This is fine.”

They sit there like that for a while. A long time. He’s paying attention to the screen, but he’s also thinking about Allie. Thinking about how easy it’d be to move closer, put an arm around her, say her name and get her to actually look at him. To tell her he knows it’s fucked and wrong and he shouldn’t want her like he does, but he can’t help it and she can do with it what she wants. 

But he can’t fucking do that, can he? She’s obviously happy with Will - they’re happy together - and Harry really shouldn’t get in the way of that. It’d be fucking selfish. The most selfish thing he’s ever done. He’s not going to do that to Will. Will’s the one person in the whole world that’s always had Harry’s back, who’s there for him. They’re like brothers. Harry thinks of WIll as more like family than his actual family, and Will has no family of his own. He’s not going to throw all that away over a girl. He’s not. 

If he thinks too hard about it, which he does, a lot, he thinks genuinely that if he told Will how he felt about Allie, Will might actually just step out of the way. But that’s...There’s no way this could be that uncomplicated. He’s just projecting, thinking Will’s as tepid about Allie as he’s been about other girls, and Harry knows that’s not true. And he can’t even fucking blame him. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. Allie, next to him, says, “Big sigh,” and when he glances over at her, her head’s propped on her hand and she’s watching him. “Maybe you can’t sleep because your mind never turns off.”

He breathes a laugh and slouches a little further onto the couch. “That’s usually it, honestly.”

“I knew it,” she says softly, like she’s been trying to figure him out and likes this confirmation. Harry looks at her questioningly. “We’re a lot alike, you know.”

“Hm.”

“Must be why Will likes us both so much.” 

There’s something about the way she says it. Something bitter just below the surface. It makes him pause, watch her. She gives him a fake little smile and turns back to the television, saying something about this being her favourite queen. 

He says, “What do you think it is about you?” and Allie’s just watching him, then, her eyes all soft and tired and still so fucking pretty. “Why we both like _you_ so much?”

He can tell she’s not surprised. He should feel bad about it but he doesn’t. 

“I mean,” she says softly, then gives him a little smile he absolutely cannot let him feel too much about, “I’m amazing, so.”

Harry smiles back at her, reaches over and, for some reason, runs the pad of his thumb over the nail on her pinky finger, holds it between his thumb and index finger a second too long before letting go. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, and Allie takes this shaky little breath. 

They don’t talk anymore. For a half hour or more, they sit there side by side with this show on in the background. He yawns, and she grins at him, scrunches her nose cutely at him when she does, too. She falls asleep in front of the television and he turns it off before heading back upstairs.

… … ...

Will’s in the shower one night, rinsing kitchen smells off him because he was out in Brooklyn shooting something at a restaurant for his channel. Allie walks into the house in cotton shorts and a tank top, carrying too many bags. Harry knows he’s looking at her like she’s crazy when he notices. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, and he’s just sitting on the sofa with a glass of sparkling water on his knee and the television on. 

“ _We’re_ making him dinner.” Harry pulls a face. He’d remember agreeing to this. She stands right at the back of the sofa, so he has to sort of tip his head back to see her. She sets down one of the bags and puts her hand on his shoulder. Oh. “It’ll be fun.” 

“Why?”

“Why will it be fun?” she asks, goofy smile on her face as she gathers up all the bags. Harry rolls his eyes. No, that’s not what he was asking. “Because I’m a terrible cook but my intentions are good, and if you don’t help me this will go very badly.”

Harry smiles, gets up and follows her into the kitchen. He doesn’t know what the hell she’s planning to make, but he can tell this is way too many groceries for one meal. 

“Okay,” he says, and realizes when she turns her head, one brow cocked, that he’s probably agreed way too quickly. She was definitely expecting more of a fight. As fun as it can be to disagree with her, he’s not down for it right now. “What’re we making?”

“Pasta,” she says definitively. Harry is zero per cent surprised. He knows she loves pasta. “And fresh bread.” He glances at her skeptically. “What?”

“You do realize fresh bread takes hours, right?” he asks, leaning on the counter, watching her pull things from these bags. 

“Okay, I can pivot.” Harry laughs, knowing what she said about getting shit done is true and kicking into high gear here. “Pasta and salad and lemon bars.”

“Lemon bars?”

“They’re easy. I’ve made them before. I didn’t even burn them.” 

Harry laughs, reaches for her phone when she holds it out for him. There’s a recipe page up with this pasta that looks actually really easy and also delicious. She totally doesn’t need his help with this. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed that you didn’t burn a thing?” 

“Yes,” she says on a laugh.

“Is that why you’re with Will? ‘Cause he’s good in the kitchen?” he asks, and it’s meant to be a joke, but Allie freezes and the look on her face is sort of mad, and she goes to say something, then stops, and Harry feels like an asshole. He sighs. “I’m sorry.” She chews her bottom lip like maybe that’s not enough. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then why’d you say it?” 

He doesn’t have a good answer for that, does he? So he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

She says, “Okay,” and he notices that’s not really the same as accepting his apology, but maybe he deserves that. 

When Will comes downstairs, Allie’s pouring pasta into the boiling water and jumps when some of the water hits the flame of the gas stove and flares up. Harry puts his hand on her hip and pushes her out of the way as he laughs and says, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath. She goes back to focusing on the salad. He reminds her not to cut her finger off and she looks properly annoyed at the teasing. Will’s just sitting there with a glass of wine, laughing at them. He cringes at Allie’s knife technique and laughs when Harry splashes a little of the pasta sauce onto his hand and hisses. 

“You two are fucking hopeless,” Will says, and Harry knows that part of it is just that he loves being the best at this thing. He’s clearly better in the kitchen than they are, and he likes it that way. Harry isn’t bothered. He’s usually bad at being bad at things. Maybe, actually, he’s realizing he’s not as bad as he thought. It could be worse; he could be as bad as Allie.

Allie places her hand over her heart, the paring knife in her hand coming a little too close to her chin for Harry’s liking. He reaches over and takes it from her, rolling his eyes. 

“At least we’re hopeless together,” she says wistfully, just to be cute, and Harry smiles to himself when he turns back to the stove.

Her hand touches his back when she looks over his shoulder into the pot of boiling water. When Harry turns around, Will’s looking at him like he’s got questions. Harry puts as much space between himself and Allie as he can do without making it obvious that’s what he’s doing. 

He sips his wine and looks at his feet when Allie pushes a little piece of mozzarella past Will’s lips. 

They all drink too much wine, and then when Harry says he’s gonna grab a joint, Allie’s face lights up a little. He knows she smokes occasionally, but they’ve never smoked together. 

When they step outside into the muggy night air, he switches on the string lights in the backyard and Allie smiles. He knows they’re her favourite thing about the backyard. Instead of heading down the steps onto the little grassy area where the chairs are, Harry sits down on the steps and she sits next to him. She takes the joint from him after he’s lit it and inhales deeply. Harry tries not to think it’s hot.

“You know,” she says, then looks over her shoulder at the door before continuing. She ashes the joint and passes it to him. “You’re a flirt.”

Harry laughs softly. “I’ve heard that,” he says, smirking before putting the joint back between his lips. His elbows are resting on his knees. “I’m pretty good at it.”

“Hm.” He passes to her again. “I probably spend too much time wondering what it’s like when you aren’t holding back.”

His heart beats hard in his chest. Why the fuck would she say that? 

“Yeah?”

She hums again, her fingers brushing his as she exhales and gives him the joint. “I really like Will.” 

He’d fucking hope so. They’ve been together for a while now. 

“Okay,” Harry says, because honestly, where the fuck is this going? And he sounds a little breathless, because she’s saying - even if she isn’t saying it - that she’s into him, too. That she knows she shouldn’t be, but that this isn’t nothing. It’s not one-sided. “Why are you telling me this?”

She gives him this soft, pretty look like she would’ve thought he’d know the answer. 

“Who else am I supposed to tell?” she almost whispers. 

“Yeah, but,” he starts, and then sounds too heated, too _much_. He sighs, takes another hit because whatever, who cares about fucking _rules_ right now? Clearly not her. “What am I supposed to do with this?” She’s wearing this expression all full of empathy like maybe she hadn’t considered it. “Like, I’m not just flirting with you for fun, Allie.”

She takes the joint. It’s in his left hand so she has to sort of lean across his body to get it, her chest sort of brushing his right arm. This isn’t fair. 

And she says, “I know,” and he can tell it’s the truth, so like. What the fuck is she playing at? “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not...I’m with Will.” 

Harry thinks she’s trying to convince herself not to play into this, not to continue whatever the fuck this is she’s trying to do. 

So he says, “Yeah,” all quietly, because he wants to remind her this is a hell of a lot harder for him than it is for her. 

She whispers, “I just like you, too,” like maybe he’s not meant to hear it. But he does. And he watches her profile as she tips her head back. Maybe she’s looking for stars, or something, but you can’t really see any in the city. She blows smoke straight up, then closes her eyes. Harry’s watching that, too. 

She sighs, passes the joint to him, looks him right in the eye. He’s never wanted to kiss her more. He’s not going to. But he wants to. God, he wants to. She sets her hand on his forearm. 

“Come inside when you’re done,” she says, as if he’d stay out here all night without her invitation into his own fucking house? Like… “Don’t run away.”

Joint between his lips, he asks, “Where would I go?”

She smiles, blinks heavily, and leans towards him, which...Despite all the shit they just said, nothing seems to have changed. Maybe it’s ‘cause they’re a couple glasses of wine into the evening and her high’s hitting, or something. He doesn’t even care. He’s buzzed and likes being alone with her and maybe it makes him a dick, but it doesn’t matter. He wants what he wants, and he wants her close always. 

“Away from me?” she says, like a question, like she’s wondering if it’s true and wants him to say it’s not. 

He gives her a smile he knows she’ll like, bends his head towards hers. “Wanna know a secret?” he asks, and her eyes are dark blue as she nods, cheeks colouring pink like she thinks maybe he might kiss her. He won’t. “I don’t think I could stay away from you if I tried.”

Allie’s brows move, like she wasn’t expecting that. Like she likes it. Like she’d kiss him right now if her boyfriend wasn’t inside. Then she tilts her head, blinks once, slowly, and scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip. Harry knows she knows _exactly_ how hot she’s being. His hand itches to reach out and just touch her, but that’s not what this is. They’ve already crossed the lines tonight; no need to set fire to them. 

She repeats, “Come inside when you’re done,” and if he tries really hard, he can almost imagine a world in which she says that, and then is waiting for him in bed when he goes to find her. 

… … …

He sort of wants to talk to Will. Not about Allie only. Not about their conversation on the back step the other night. No, just...He sort of wants to fish. Like, how serious is Will _really_? Does he just like Allie or is it deeper than that? It’s been months now. Is Harry crazy to think it’d be easy to fall for her in that amount of time? 

Is he crazy to think maybe he has? 

Jesus, what is happening to him? This is insane. 

He hooks up with some girl he meets at a party one of his old classmates has in the Bronx. Getting home after, at like four in the morning, is a fucking nightmare. 

He doesn’t feel better. 

Will stays at Allie’s two nights in a row and Harry has the place to himself. 

That doesn’t make him feel better, either. 

… … ...

The four of them go to his Hamptons house for a long weekend. The four of them being him and Will, Allie and Cassandra. They coordinate it so they take off Friday and Monday, and Harry drives them up in his car, which Allie, for some reason, is surprised to realize she didn’t know he had. Cassandra sits shotgun and controls the music - which is a fucking mistake, if he’s being honest. Harry tries to imagine what it might be like with Cassandra if she were ready to date. Which is also stupid. Because he knows good and fucking well he doesn’t want Cassandra and she doesn’t want him, either. 

As soon as they’ve dropped their stuff in the house, Allie looks out the back of the house, through the custom accordion doors he’s opened so the hot salt air is blowing into the place and you can hear the seagulls and see the beach. 

“I’m going in,” Allie says, and pulls her shirt off. She’s wearing a bathing suit. Harry still averts his eyes and Cassandra says her sister’s name. As if either of them has to be precious about this. Allie clearly doesn’t really understand their reactions, judging by the look she throws their way.

But Allie just steps outside, unzips her shorts and slides them down off her hips and asks who’s coming with her. Cassandra shakes her head like Allie’s crazy - and she might be - and Harry opens a beer and stands there, watching as Allie takes off barefoot across the sand. Will’s looking at her sort of…

Harry doesn’t want to speculate on what it means. That won’t do him any good. 

Cassandra goes to change, and Will’s wearing board shorts, so he just drops his shirt on one of the deck chairs and goes out to meet Allie just as her feet hit the surf, and Harry stays put. He really just...he needs a little distance. This is fine. This is good. 

Cassandra comes back from the room that he said she could claim, her bikini on. She looks good. He’s not blind. He also notices the scar on her chest but doesn’t know anything about it and isn’t going to mention it. 

“Are you coming?” she asks, and Harry just shakes his head. “You’re gonna make me third wheel?”

Harry scoffs. As if he hasn’t been third wheel for fucking ages. (He’s never stopped to think she probably has been, too. It’s not like Allie and Will spend all their time at his place.) “You’ll manage.”

She gives him this look that’s full of sympathy, like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s been thinking. How he feels about her sister. But there’s no way she could know that. Right?

“Hey,” she says, and Harry keeps his eyes downcast, because he can’t fucking handle if Cassandra _knows_. “She’s not trying to hurt you.” 

Okay, yeah. So, Cassandra knows. He looks up at her. “No?” he asks, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say?

She shakes her head. “She just never trusts herself.”

He doesn’t know what that means. 

“What does that mean?”

“Honestly?” He tilts his head, purses his lips. What the fuck else would he want? Yes, honesty would be great. Cassandra sighs, looks out to make sure they’re not about to be interrupted, or something. “She never knows if maybe there’s something better.” His brow furrows. What the fuck? “She’s happy with Will, but…”

Harry swallows. “But?”

Cassandra gives him a little smile he thinks is sort of nice, shrugs her shoulder. “But there’s you, too.”

He grinds his teeth. “I’m not doing anything.”

Cassandra laughs, humourless, and slips her thumb under the strap of her bathing suit to adjust it. “That’s the whole thing.” Yeah, he’s confused. He just looks at her, his beer bottle dangling between his fingertips. “How she feels about you when you’re not even trying.”

She starts towards the door, then, and Harry just...What the fuck is she saying? Why would she tell him this?

“I can’t do that to him,” he says, shaking his head, because it’s important, and Will’s literally the only reason he hasn’t made a move. If she were dating any other person on the planet, Harry wouldn’t give a shit and for sure wouldn’t be holding back. 

Cassandra lets out a loud breath. “She likes that about you, too.” 

_Fuck_.

Cassandra leaves, and Harry drinks two beers too fast, then changes into trunks and meets them out on the beach. Allie looks hot in her navy bikini because of course she looks hot. Always. But especially in this. When he joins them on the beach she puts her arms around him, standing by his side, so her chest is pressed sort of against him and he puts an arm clumsily around her. 

She says, “It’s really beautiful here.”

He says, “You’re really beautiful here.”

Because fuck it. _Fuck it_.

If _trying_ will get him what he wants, maybe he should start doing that. 

Allie’s fingers dig into the bare skin of his side as she laughs a little and then pulls away, tells him to come into the water with her. 

Later, when Will’s grilling burgers and calling them basic for this menu, Allie’s sipping white wine and whispering heatedly in a corner with her sister, Harry watches when Will’s distracted. He thinks they’re probably talking about him. He wonders why Cassandra’s doing this. He wonders if she knows something else he doesn’t. Something she won’t tell him at all, ever. And that’s fine. Truly. He doesn’t expect her to spill all their secrets. He didn’t expect her to tell him any of them. That’s on her.

Allie brushes past him in the kitchen like he’s done something wrong even though all he’s doing is rinsing a plate in the sink. He doesn’t call her on it. She’s not mad at _him_. He isn't sure what she’s mad at, but it’s not him. She’s just pouring herself another drink. Trying. She’s currently wrestling with a corkscrew. 

Harry takes it from her, puts one hand on the bottle and the other on the corkscrew, closing his fingers around hers. She sighs her frustration and gives in, lets him take it from her. He opens the bottle easily enough as she tells him she could’ve done it. He tells her he knows. 

He pours for her, too. She’s avoiding looking at him. He hates this. 

“Hey. What’s up?” he asks, and she’s shaking her head. “Allie.”

“Nothing,” she says, but it’s soft, quiet, like she kind of wants to tell him, but won’t. “Cassandra just keeps talking shit.”

He scoffs a little. Given his earlier conversation with Cassandra, he can assume it isn’t shit. 

“Yeah? That all?”

Allie nods. He won’t push her on this. “I’m an adult. She keeps acting like I can’t make my own choices.”

Cocking his brow, he asks, “What choices?” and Allie avoids his eyes, says something, instead, about going to check on the status of dinner. 

He lets her walk away because it’s not his place to stop her. 

… … …

Cassandra doesn’t drink coffee. He learns this in the morning when he’s the first one up and she comes down into the kitchen and says good morning to him as she yawns. He’s made a pot already and offers her a cup, but she just says no thank you, and then loosely ties the front of this sheer floral bathing suit cover up she has on. He hasn’t opened up all the doors, relishing in the AC for a little longer before they all decide what to do today. Honestly, he’s thinking it’ll be more of the same thing they did yesterday. 

He wonders if she’s like her sister, asks, “Tea?” and Cassandra smiles and says something herbal would be nice. 

Look, he definitely doesn’t want to date Cassandra. And he thinks there’s something about her and their dynamic that is telling him if they met under any other circumstances he’d probably think she’s a snot and immediately write her off. He’s not saying they’re _friends_ , but she’s not the worst person to be here with, with Allie and Will. 

Especially because he thinks the more time he spends alone with her, the more she might tell him about Allie and her feelings and how much, exactly, she talks about him. Is it stupid and incredibly fucked up to want for that? Absolutely. But here he is, not caring. 

He thinks she catches him noticing her scar again. She’s wearing a one piece today, but it’s still right there on her sternum. 

“She hasn’t told you?” Cassandra asks, and Harry shakes his head as he drops a tea bag into a mug and waits for the kettle to boil. 

So that’s how he learns of Cassandra’s health stuff, and why she keeps a pretty strict diet that doesn’t include caffeine or more than a couple of drinks, and has her limiting her consumption of red meat. They sit on the comfortable chairs in the living room and she tells him as much as she wants to tell about her childhood, and Allie’s part in it, and Harry nods along and thinks this sort of explains a lot about Allie. Being afraid to want things, to ask for them or take them. The way she’d said Cassandra is better than her. And Cassandra’s need to be excellent at everything because she - and these are her words - sort of doesn’t know how much time she’s ever had, and wants to know she’s pushing herself to accomplish as much as possible in case she dies young. 

It’s fucking heavy. 

Allie comes downstairs with her hair wet from a shower, these cute linen overalls on, only one shoulder fastened and a black strapless bikini top underneath. Harry doesn’t stare, really, but he does look. Allie beams and says good morning, wraps her arms around her sister’s shoulders from behind. It makes Harry smile into his coffee cup. Then she comes over and does the same thing with him. His hand comes up to rest on her forearm before she pulls away. She smells like shampoo and then says she wants French toast, and asks who wants to help her. Cassandra volunteers. Harry’s fine with that. Then Will comes downstairs and sort of takes over, and Harry sits at the counter with his third cup of coffee, eating fresh strawberries Cassandra’s hulling, and they make fun of him for being taken care of this way. For sitting his ass down and doing nothing while they putter. 

He shrugs, tosses a strawberry past his lips, and grins. “Honestly, finally getting the treatment I deserve.”

Will rolls his eyes. Allie looks at him like he’s issued some kind of challenge, and then comes over and parks herself on the stool next to him. He’s watching her, smirking, and she just raises her brow. 

“I mean, I deserve it, too,” she says, defiant, like she’s ready to argue it. “Don’t you think?”

Herry just wags his brows and pushes the bowl with the strawberries towards her so they can share it. 

Cassandra gives her sister a pretty loaded look. Harry pretends not to see.

… … …

Allie, Will and Cassandra spend the day on the sand, literally feet away from the house on towels, dipping into the ocean intermittently and reapplying sunscreen frequently. Allie runs into the house and gathers up drinks for them, asks him for help opening her beer bottle. He’s been sitting on the back deck, alternating between soaking up sun and sitting under the shade of an umbrella. He’s reading a book that’s...he’s struggling through it. Because it’s fiction and that’s just not really his thing anymore. But it was recommended to him by one of the partners at his firm and he knows it’s important to connect with people and have something to talk about. Even if he thinks the character in the book is kind of an asshole. He’s pretty sure he can make an argument about this that’s eloquent. 

Allie in her little black bikini, standing over him and shielding her eyes from the sun is…

He knows she sees him check her out. She doesn’t say anything and it’s not a big deal, probably. There’s no way she genuinely thought he wouldn’t look, right? 

“Come sit with us,” she says, almost pouting. 

“I’m good.” Okay, now absolutely pouting. He laughs a little. “I’m trying to get through this shitty book.”

They’d talked about it and why he was reading it, last night when he read a few pages and then tossed it onto the table, deciding, instead, to try and learn euchre because Cassandra was teaching Will. Allie’d called him a brown noser and like...it’s true, sometimes. 

“Why stick with things that are shitty?” she asks, and Harry feels like an idiot for how it catches him off guard. Like, she just says it so easily. “I abandon books all the time. If I’m not enjoying it, I get rid of it.”

He grins, looks up at her. He sort of likes this position, honestly. Her knee’s close to his and she’s hovering over him, looking down. He doesn’t know why he thinks it’s hot, but he does. 

“Guess you lack my constant need to please people in positions of authority and make sure they don’t think I’m a total asshole or write me off.” She smiles, though she looks like she sort of doesn’t want to. “Seems like your loss.” Allie laughs loudly at his joke, nudges his knee with hers and then presses her cold beer bottle against his chest just to fuck with him. “Oh my god. You’re like a different person here.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He doesn’t want her to think it’s a bad thing. She shifts her weight, smiles at him, sips her beer and then licks her upper lip, which…

“I told you I love summer.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m in my element,” she says, and Harry leans his arm over the back of the chair, smiles at her. He honestly thinks she means it. He likes that, too. That she knows this thing about herself. 

“Yeah,” he repeats, and then looks her up and down again. “You look really good in your element.”

She shakes her head, but she looks way too satisfied with what he’s said for him to think she could even attempt to play it off. 

And then her eyes drop to his chest and she tilts her head as she blatantly checks him out, too. Harry’s jaw twitches. He likes this _too much_.

“You look pretty good in my element, too.”

He feels the grin break on his lips, because this is fucking hot, no matter how he looks at it. Like, the secret of it, the fact that it’s like a confession and only the two of them will know. And then...just that she’s not scared to say it. It’s sexy on her. 

She gives him this exaggerated wink and he chuckles as she heads down the steps towards the beach again. 

20 minutes later, he gives up on trying to get through any more of his book right now, and joins them on the sand, dropping down next to Will. They, all three of them, make a big fuss about him finally gracing them with his presence, but like. Accurate. So. 

… … …

Harry’s known since they were literal children that Will can’t handle huge amounts of sun without sleeping it off or getting heat stroke. It’s like, a thing. Throw in a little alcohol consumption, and the guy’s knocked out and sleeping for way more than 7 hours, or whatever. So when, after dinner, he starts falling asleep on the couch as they all try to play Scattergories because it’s one of the only games Harry’s family ever played together, Harry just tells him to go the fuck to bed. 

Cassandra goes soon after, telling Allie not to stay up too late, which Allie doesn’t react to until her sister’s going up the stairs. Then, she rolls her eyes and Harry grins and sips his beer. 

Then he stands, and she watches almost like she’s afraid he’s going to bed, too. It’s like, 10:30. What is he, 11 years old? 

He holds out his hand, which is bold, and she smiles a bit, which is cute. And he says, “Let’s go for a walk,” and she puts her hand in his and stands up. 

Neither of them bother with shoes, though he does lock the doors behind them and pocket the keys. Allie breathes in the night air. It’s still humid as hell. She had a shower and changed into this cute pair of shorts and a tank top he’s pretty sure she isn’t wearing a bra beneath. Unconfirmed. He hasn’t wanted to stare. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I just love summer so much because of being a kid and having the time off.”

He smiles a little, looks over at her, the ocean in the background. “Oh yeah?”

Allie glances over at him, clearly pleased. Maybe surprised he’s actually humouring her instead of just laughing this off. It’s a little silly - they live somewhere it gets cold and snowy the opposite part of the year and he knows literally no one who prefers that to all this - but he also thinks there’s something to it. Summer’s associated with freedom and sugar consumption and his nanny letting him swim for hours and then feeding him food his mom wouldn’t approve of for lunch. He gets what Allie’s pointing at. 

“I’m really good at being an adult, but there’s just something kind of wild about summer, you know?” Harry nods, takes a drink. Allie grabs the bottle from his hand and he doesn’t mind. She stopped drinking an hour ago. He should’ve offered her a beer before they left. Whatever. She can have his. 

“You like being a little wild?” he asks, and it isn’t even sexual, which he’s glad she understands. 

She shrugs, pushes her hair off her forehead only for the wind to blow it back. “I always had to sort of hang back and support, you know? Cassandra was…” 

“I know,” he says gently, and she looks at him, surprised. “She told me.” 

She looks almost relieved to not have to go through it all. Which he gets. 

“I think I would’ve given all of them heart issues if I’d actually fully done what I wanted to do at any given moment.”

Harry laughs a little, because he thinks…

He thinks she’s doing the same thing now, isn’t she? This is what Cassandra was talking about. Allie doesn’t let herself have the things she wants because she’s not sure she’s allowed to want them. She keeps a safe distance, close enough that she can say she could see them, but never actually going for it. He thinks that’s bullshit. No, that’s not...If it’s how she operates then that’s valid, or whatever, but he sort of wants to push against it a little. And not only because he thinks it’ll work to his advantage. 

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he asks, and Allie shakes her head, smiling. “Come on! I’ll tell you mine.” 

“No,” she says, resolute, and Harry takes his beer back, stops walking when she does. She sits down on the sand and he joins her. Out near the water, there’re a couple of teenagers messing around, laughing, the guy’s arm around the girl’s waist. “Are you having fun?” 

He leans his hand behind him, rests his beer between his thighs in the sand, leans towards her. “Right this second? Yeah.”

She smiles, tilts her head up and shakes it a little like she wasn’t expecting him to flirt. He doesn’t know why not. “The trip.”

“Sure,” he answers, because it’s true, even if he can't shake the feeling he’d enjoy it a lot more if it was just the two of them alone together, based on their interactions between just the two of them so far. “It’s nice to get out of the city.” 

She nods, and he just...he can’t fucking stand this anymore. The tiptoeing around saying what he really wants. Flirting is one thing. He can flirt with her and she’ll play it off like he’s just being a dork, and she doesn’t have to acknowledge, really, that they both know he’s not. That this means something. And they do acknowledge it. He knows that. But it’s not the same. He thinks all he’s wanted for weeks is to tell her he’s fucking crazy about her, that he _wants her_ and let her finally just do with that what she wants. He shouldn’t let her keep ignoring this. He’s all confused and twisted up.

“Having fun spending time with you,” he says genuinely, and Allie folds her arms on top of her knees, rests her chin there and turns her head to look at him. “But I always have fun with you.”

“Harry, I…” 

He prompts, “Say it,” when she doesn’t finish, and she shakes her head again, looks at him softly. “Should I?”

“You can do whatever you want,” she says all quietly, like she knows what that means, like she’s inviting it. And she shouldn’t. He knows that and she has to as well. But goddammit if he isn’t going to take her at her word. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

She’s nodding and looking at his lips. He doesn’t doubt for a second this is exactly what she was hoping for. 

He leans over slowly, slips his hand into her hair, wanting to give her plenty of opportunity to stop this. But then she leans in, too, and he watches her eyes close just before he brushes his lips against hers. He does it softly, doesn’t try to deepen it or push it or do anything but give her like, the exact opposite of the kind of kiss he wants to give her. She lets out this little sound when he stops, like she wanted more. Wants more. Then her hand is on his cheek and she’s pulling him back, and he smiles when she kisses him again. 

She presses her forehead against his after, says, “Fuck,” and he nods, because _true_. “I was hoping you’d be bad at this.” He doesn’t mean to laugh, but it’s sort of a hilarious thing to say. “Or that I wouldn’t feel anything.” 

She pulls back, but leaves her hand on his face. “I was definitely not hoping that,” he tells her, voice low. She gives him this dark look that’s probably the sexiest thing he’s ever seen on her. “We can’t really do this.” 

She shakes her head, agreeing. But then says, “I’m so confused.”

And Harry’s thinking he probably has some ways to convince her. Ways that include his hands and his mouth and a lot less clothing. But he also thinks maybe that’s not what would help her. That kissing is bad enough and he _knows_ that, too, and now that he’s not just thinking about doing what he wants, he’s thinking about Will, and they can’t fucking do this. 

“Me too,” he says, and then leans away, and Allie looks out at the water and Harry leans back on both hands. “He’s my best friend.”

“I know.” 

“But...Fuck, Allie,” he says, and looks at her again, and she’s wearing this little smile like she’s resisting the temptation just as hard as he is. “You know how badly I want you. How much I like you.”

She nods. She smiles. She reaches for his beer - though he thinks it’s kind of their beer at this point - and then says, “I’m so fucking stupid.”

His brows pinch together. “You’re not.”

She smiles a little, the bottle pressed against her lips, then says, “Maybe we both are.”

He breathes out a laugh. “Maybe.” 

Allie leans her head on his shoulder. They’ve solved nothing. They’ve fucked even more up. But he just takes the beer from her and they sit there a while, trading sips until it’s finished, and then he helps her up and they walk back to the house. He says goodnight to her when she heads for the stairs, and he thinks he can tell by the look on her face that she’d be sort of fine not saying goodnight at all, if only things were a little different. 

… … …

When they’re back in the city, after Harry’s dropped Allie and Cassandra off at their place and driven himself and Will home, they drop their bags by the stairs and Harry’s opening Uber Eats to order some food because they’re both starving but also exhausted. 

As they eat their overpriced but delicious pizza, sitting on the sofa, Will says, out of nowhere, “You and Allie get along really well.”

Harry looks over carefully. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t know why it’s a question.

Will lets out this little laugh, a little humourless thing like Harry’s being an idiot and he might not appreciate it. Harry tries not to let on that he’s fucking terrified will _knows_ something happened in the Hamptons. Allie wouldn’t have told him. And if she’d told him, she would’ve given Harry a heads up. At least he thinks she would’ve. 

“Why don’t you just admit it, man?” Will asks, but he’s sort of smiling, like this is like, amusing, or cute, or some stupid crush Harry has on a random girl neither of them is involved with. 

“I…” 

What the _fuck_ is he supposed to say? Some kind of denial? Actually tell the truth? He doesn’t want to put Allie in a weird position, either. As far as Harry knows, she and WIll are still together. He saw them kiss on the beach just this morning. Then again when Allie got out of the car.

“You like her,” Will states, like it’s not up for debate. Like it’s a fact and he knows it and it’s not a thing Harry can refute. “It’s fine. I know she’s awesome and easy to look at.”

That’s...reductive. That’s not what Harry likes about her. It’s not _all_. And he thinks she’d be sort of pissed if she heard Will say those words. But it’s _definitely_ not his place to say so. 

But he doesn’t want to deny it. Will’s always been able to tell when he’s lying, which is a pain in the ass. 

“Yeah.” But Will looks over at him, brow furrowed like maybe he wasn’t expecting Harry to respond to that at all. “What do you want me to say?” Harry laughs, which is kind of an asshole move, but whatever. At this point, they might as well just have the fucking conversation, right? “You know she’s incredible.”

“I know,” Will says, and there’s the defensiveness he was expecting. “And I know you wouldn’t fuck me over like that.”

Harry nods, wonders what it means when he says, “Exactly,” and Will believes him. 

… … …

Allie doesn’t come around almost the entire week, and Harry’s glad. Well, he’s not glad, but he knows it’s better this way. That what happened at the beach can’t happen again, and if he’s being honest the only way he can make sure it doesn’t is not being around her. And if he’s being honest, he’s sort of fucking terrified that Will’s going to be watching closely for any sign that he has something to worry about. Harry’d do the same thing. Actually, he doesn’t think he’d have to, because he doesn’t think Will would do this to him. What’s he saying? He knows Will wouldn’t; he’s admitted he had a thing for Kelly for a bit. He didn’t say anything until after she and Harry had broken up, and had never acted on it, but still. 

Harry has an insane week after taking two days off, so he’s got lots of reason to stay at the office too late, too. Really distract himself in the least healthy way. He knows it’s not a good thing, and Will, once, even asks if Harry’s okay, when he comes home after 10pm from the office with his tie crooked and his hair a mess. He only notices those things when WIll tells him he looks like shit and he catches his reflection in the mirror. Thank god he’s got therapy tomorrow. 

He’s mentioned Allie. He’s mentioned his feelings. He’s talked about all this. He knows that kissing her, that her wanting him to, and kissing him, and them having that time together...It’s a lot. It’s a ‘development’. That’s the word his therapist will use. 

After his session, after his therapist tells him he needs to take a break, not use work as a coping mechanism but also give himself space to reflect on his feelings and his actions and what might be next, he decides to go back to the Hamptons for the weekend on his own. It takes him fucking ages to get out there Friday after work, with the traffic. He brings one single joint with him but no alcohol. He brings that book he’s determined to finish. Will asks him again if he’s okay and he says he’s just tired of summer in the city. 

Allie texts him Saturday night saying she hopes he’s okay. All their other messages back and forth have just been her updating him that she’s coming over, or asking what wine to get for dinner. Her very last message to him was her sending him a link to a Spotify playlist she thought he’d like. 

Anyway, he doesn’t know how to answer that. Like, he’s okay. He’s _fine_. But he doesn’t say any of that, he just writes back that he hopes she is, too. 

She says _’Honestly missing night time at the beach.’_

If he reads between the lines, he can assume she’s saying she misses him. He wants to be pissed at her for it. He wants to think it’s fucked up to be strung along like this. But he knows she’s not doing this on purpose. She seems genuinely upset about it, which he gets.

He’s sitting on the back deck, so he takes a shitty video of the ocean, waves rolling and moon reflecting silver off the water. She sends the heart eyes emoji. 

Yeah, he’s really gotta not think about that too deeply. 

When he gets back late Sunday evening, those little white sneakers she wears are sitting in the front hallway and her purse is on the table next to the stairs. Harry just texts Will that he’s home instead of knocking on his door and showing his face and seeing them in Will’s bedroom, or whatever. 

He sort of thought he’d use the weekend away to convince himself he needs to get over her. Not to realize that the last thing he wants to do is get over her. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to _have_ to. He sort of pissed about the fact that he might not have a choice. He’s not used to not having a choice in how things go. He doesn’t fucking like it. 

… … …

Will tells him on Wednesday that Friday morning, he’s flying out for a two week tour of Western Canada for some publication. 

Friday evening, Allie texts him asking if she can come over so they can talk. 

It’s a fucking bad idea. He’s not going to say yes. 

He says yes. 

He resists the urge to have a drink before she shows up. That’s not how he wants to deal with things and it’s not how he wants to show up in this conversation. Regardless of how it goes, he sort of needs to have a clear mind for it. And he’s fully prepared for her to tell him she’s sorry, but it’s Will. Like, he has no reason at all to think she won’t. She could’ve broken up with Will at any point. Harry has some idea how she feels about him, but he thinks that she still wants to be Will’s girlfriend. That’s not nothing.

When he opens the door, she looks so fucking good and happy to see him that he almost just kisses her the second she’s inside. This is such a fucking stupid thing they’re doing. 

He really doesn’t know what to expect, but she says, “I missed you last week,” as he’s pushing the door closed and she’s kicking her flip flops off. He takes a breath, watches her. “I’m trying this thing where I’m really honest.”

He thinks she’s saying that because she wants him to understand and to know and to react with some empathy. And he appreciates that. He can do that.

“Okay,” he says, and _now_ she looks nervous. “I can meet you there.”

She smiles at him and he leads her to the kitchen, pours them each a glass of water. 

“I know I should apologize for letting things go as far as they did, but I’m not sorry,” she says, looking down at the counter instead of at him. They’re sort of next to one another, close, her on one side of the counter and him on the next. He could move his hand a couple inches and take hers. 

And he appreciates her honesty, but it does beg a question. 

“Why didn’t you just end it with him?” She looks up quickly. He’s being blunt and maybe even a little crass, but. “After we kissed, I mean.”

She looks a little mad, like he’s being an asshole and he shouldn’t make statements like that. But why shouldn’t he get to ask these questions? He thinks he’s owed some answers. He’s been thinking it for days. If she wants to be honest, if she wants honesty in return, she’s got to be prepared for him to say some things that may be hard to hear.

“Will’s the nicest guy I’ve ever dated,” she says, and Harry rolls his eyes. That’s such a shitty answer. If it even is an answer. Which it’s not. “But I just...It’s really different with you. And I thought that would go away, but it hasn’t.”

None of this is making him feel any better. 

“It just feels a little…” He doesn’t know the word. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t want to make it sound like she’s wrong for her feelings. That’s not it at all. So he just settles on asking, “What are we doing?”

“Harry,” she laughs, looking down again. He wants an actual response. “He knows.”

He freezes. “He knows what?”

“That I have feelings for you,” she says. 

And like, she’s never said it quite like that before. He’s not surprised, really, but hearing it said so plainly is sort of making him crazy. And he thinks of that conversation after the Hamptons with Will, and he now knows Will had a similar one with Allie. What the fuck’s the guy playing at? There’s no way Will’s just okay with this, and Harry wonders if...Look, it’s been unfair all along, but Harry’s wondered forever if Will’s as serious about Allie as he’s letting on. This isn’t the first time he’s thought it. He’s just saying there’s something weird about the fact that he knows how Harry feels, and he knows how Allie feels, and it’s just not that big a deal to him. That makes no sense.

He’s confused. 

“What?”

“Last night he came over, and he told me to take this time to figure out what I want.” Harry doesn’t know what that means. She looks up at him again. He was hoping he’d see it on her face, but he doesn’t. “And that we could talk about it when he gets back, if I want to.”

“What the fuck?” he asks, and he thinks it’s at least a little cute, the way she smiles in response. “That sounds like a breakup, Allie.”

She presses her lips together, shrugs one shoulder. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He has more questions. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

She lets out this small laugh, moves her leg just so, and it bumps his at the edge of the counter. She just leaves it there, rests it against his. He likes the contact. “I don’t think he _wants_ us to…”

God, he wants to kiss her. 

“To what?” 

She looks up at him through her lashes again. “To act on this.”

He tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead. He watches her eyes track it. She reaches out and pushes it back a little. It feels nice. 

“I mean.” He pauses, and he thinks she knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “We have.”

She nods, not arguing it. He likes that. That she doesn’t look at the Hamptons and the beach and kissing him in the moonlight as something different from this. 

“Last weekend, knowing you were there...I kept wondering what it’d be like if it was just us.”

He assumes she means just them at the beach house, but maybe she also means just them _together_.

She meets his eyes again, and yeah, maybe she means that. 

But he’s still looking for answers. 

He notices a flaw in the granite of the countertop, picks at it with his fingernail, then stops. 

“Why didn’t you just end it with him?”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I have a really awful habit of not trusting my instincts. And wanting good enough to be good enough. Like, forcing that.” He tilts his head. That’s fucked up, sure. But… “And I know all the things Cassandra told you. Which I didn’t appreciate, but also understand.”

He laughs softly. “Therapy could help.”

She grins. “Therapy has helped. This is progress.”

It makes him chuckle. She smiles fully, then scrunches her nose a little and shakes her head, her hair falling over her shoulder. 

He doesn’t want to push her, but he’s not actually sure this changes anything. She’s on a break from Will, or whatever, and she’s got to figure shit out. Harry thinks it’d be a pretty fucking terrible idea to jump into something too fast. He doesn’t think that’d work. Not the way he wants it to work with her. 

“So what do you want?” he asks, not expecting her to have an answer, but knowing he’d be pissed at himself if he didn’t just put it out there. 

And anyway, she says, “You,” with her eyes on his, which sort of knocks the breath out of him. 

He leans over and kisses her without thinking about it, then pulls away too fast because he feels like an asshole. Like the last time, Allie initiates the next kiss, grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him back to her, presses her lips against his and then moves so she’s pressed against him, the counter no longer between them. Harry’s hands find her hips, and she opens her mouth for him, and god, he’d take her upstairs right now if this situation was any fucking different than the one they’ve made. 

“I thought,” he says, her lips on his neck. His eyes close. That feels so good. “I thought you were supposed to be figuring it out.”

She lets out a breath, warm against his skin, and he pushes her away because she’s fucking distracting and this is _still_ a bad idea and too fast and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. It feels wrong to let them fuck it up. 

(And, a little, too, he’s worried that she wants what she wants when it’s right in front of her, but that she’ll change her mind again. He still wants to know more about why she dragged it out with Will instead of her being the one to call it off. But he doesn’t think he’ll get that answer yet, because he doesn’t think she’s actually processed it.) 

“Maybe I have figured it out.” He sighs, wanting to argue, wanting to tell her to take her time. Wanting to tell her not to fuck with him. Or Will. “He’s nice, but you’re…”

He doesn’t want to be compared to Will. He probably should’ve thought of that before he fell for the guy’s girl. 

“I’m what?” he asks, smirking, sliding his thumb along her jaw. Her head tilts easily, and he...He has a lot of thoughts. A _lot_ of thoughts. About how easily he can move her. About how she shows she wants him. About how she’s still holding his shirt in her hand, tugging, keeping him close. About how her hands might feel on his bare skin. About how she’d react to his voice in her ear. 

“God, Harry,” she breathes, then moves her hand up to the back of his neck. “The way you make me feel.”

Harry pushes her away, because what he wants is to do is press her against the counter, take her up to his room, get her into his bed. And he fucking knows he could. But they can’t. He won’t.

He still has questions. He still needs some answers. He still thinks this whole thing’s gonna be messy and uncomfortable and...Is he actually just assuming that they’re going to try and make this work? He has no real reason to think that. He and Allie have had these conversations before. Heavy ones, anyway. Maybe not quite the same. But nothing changed then, and he gets that she’s confused, that she thought she should want the nice guy. Harry’s not the nice guy. He’s never been. He wants to know if that’s what made her hesitate. If the feelings she had for him were mostly physical, mostly in response to his blatant flirting. If she thought he didn’t genuinely _like_ her. He didn’t think he’d kept that a secret, either. No, he’s pretty sure he made that super clear. But if she’s naturally doubtful of shit like that, he understands. Sort of. Maybe. 

She’s just looking at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she says gently, quietly, and he can tell she really means it, even if he’s not sure what it’s for yet. “I really didn’t handle this well at all.”

Like, he isn’t going to argue with that. She’s right; she didn’t. But neither did he and neither did Will. They all sort of acted like idiot high schoolers with poor communication skills. All of them just wanting what they wanted without really considering anything else. Harry’s always known he’s a little selfish. 

“We can start now,” he says and it sounds so fucking lame, but Allie looks all hopeful, like maybe she didn’t think he’d actually forgive her, or would still want her, or would be okay with all this. “I don’t think you should make any decisions right now, but…” He takes a breath. He said he’d be really honest with her, right? “I wanna be with you.” 

She puts her arms around his shoulders, all slow, her hands sliding over his back feeling really fucking good. She inhales deeply when she’s all pressed against him. He really doesn’t know how any of this is going to go, but there’s nothing about tonight and this conversation that’s making him think she doesn’t want to be with him, too. He wants to stop doubting it, wants to stop feeling like he’s somehow her second choice. Because that’s not what this is. She’s not just doing this because Will gave her permission, or whatever the fuck. She was doing this before that, too. 

He says, “You should go,” because if she doesn’t…

She squeezes a little before pulling back, her hands staying on his shoulders as she looks up at him. “Probably.”

He breathes out a laugh. She’s so fucking tempting. And she doesn’t move. Like she really doesn’t want to leave.

“Allie,” he says, looking down, sees his hands on her hips, and her bare feet on the floor. “You’ve gotta figure this shit out.”

“I…” He glances back up at her. Her brow is furrowed. 

He shakes his head a little, doesn’t want to be too harsh, but also wants to make things pretty clear. “I can’t deal with all the back and forth anymore.” She opens her mouth to say something, but he just continues, not wanting to let her get his hopes up any further. “Just...Make sure you’re really sure.”

Her eyes are all soft and earnest when she looks at him, nods her head. And look, he knows that’s what she wants, too. But he thinks it means something for him to say it out loud. For him to request it. To imply that it’s best for both of them. Because if they start this, he’s not gonna want to stop, and if she changes her mind or just needs more time… He wants her to take what she needs to make her decision. And if her decision isn’t him, he wants to know that, too, once and for all. 

She’s wearing this really pretty smile when she slides her hand over his cheek and says, “Everything feels really clear,” and Harry lets his eyes slip closed. She kisses him once, gently. “But you’re right. Can we still talk?”

He grins at her. “Yeah,” he breathes out, knowing there’s no way he could just not interact with her for however long she takes. 

(Even if he’s getting the impression it’s not going to take her long at all.) 

He kisses her goodbye at the door when she leaves. She texts him when she gets home, like he’d asked her to. 

She also tells him she’s really happy. Sends him a picture of her in her bed, covers pulled up to her chin, blue eyes shining in contrast to her white sheets. 

… … … 

They meet for coffee after work one day, at her suggestion. She asks him to meet her at 6:00 at this place she says has the best frappes in the city, which he thinks can’t possibly be true, and he also doesn’t like frappes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he would’ve said no even if she’d suggested somewhere he really didn’t want to go. 

“I’m surprised you agreed,” she says as they sit down in the front window at a table so small it means their knees bump together as they turn to one another. Harry doesn’t mind that, either. 

His brow furrows. “Are you?”

He’s been pretty direct about wanting to be around her. 

“Don’t you usually work until like, 8:00?” He gives her a look. She’s not _wrong_ , but she’s kinda wrong. 

“Sometimes.” She raises her brow, so he smirks. “Sometimes later.”

She lets out this breath like she thinks he’s being a little ridiculous. “It worries me, a little,” she admits. Harry swirls his iced coffee in his cup, waits. “That you don’t rest enough.”

He shrugs, figures he should be honest with her. “You know how you said my brain doesn’t turn off?” he asks, and she nods. “Sometimes if I’m not focusing on work, or learning something, or reading, or whatever, things get all cloudy. Anxious.” 

He never knows how people are going to respond to this. He’s not ashamed of it - he’s way past that - but sometimes people see it as a burden, or something they have to deal with instead of him. But Allie just smiles gently, and it’s not pity, or anything like that. Just acknowledgement, understanding. He’s not entirely surprised. But he likes it. A lot. 

“We’ll have to work on that,” she says, then plays with the straw of her drink. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous that this thing is basically just a milkshake. But she looks cute. She is cute. “Won’t we?”

Harry just looks at her across the table, trying not to like too much that she’s clearly saying they’re going to have something more than just this. He’s not surprised, but he is pleased. Happy. Truly. 

“Yeah?” he asks gently, and she nods. 

Then hits him with, “I think I could come up with some ways to distract you,” which is fucking hot and so is the look on her face. 

He leans his elbows on the table, leans towards her. “Think you already have.”

“Hm.” She looks at his lips. He looks at hers. 

He clears his throat. She laughs, makes him try a sip of her drink. It’s too sweet, which he tells her, and she rolls her eyes like he’s missing the point, or something. He doesn’t know. But he asks her how her day was and she tells him about this project she’s working on. This feels like a date. It feels like what it’d be like to date her. He wonders if that's what they’re doing without calling it that. He doesn’t mind if things are a little undefined. He thinks this is what the start could’ve been like if the start wasn’t what it was. Then he thinks this is the start of something anyway. 

He walks her home, kisses the apple of her cheek outside her building, tells her next time they’ll go to his favourite coffee shop. She says, “I’d love that,” and then, “Goodnight, Harry,” as if he isn’t gonna text her later, too. 

… … …

She asks if she can come over and hang out with him in the back yard. She asks if he has ‘beer, or anything.’ He’s pretty sure she’s asking if he has weed, and he does, so he says he’s home and she can stop by whenever. The sun’s just starting to go down when she arrives, looking sort of ridiculously cute with her hair in a ponytail and a canvas bag hooked over her shoulder. 

“I brought snacks,” she says, then walks in, leans up to kiss his cheek, and smiles at him. 

God, it’s fucked that he likes her so much. It really is. 

He lights the joint when he’s sitting on one of the chairs and she’s sitting on the other, after he’s moved them closer together so they won’t have to reach so far. He should’ve, but didn’t expect her to pull her legs up and lean all close to him, take his left hand in hers and just watch him take the first hit. He watches her watching. He already feels a bit of a buzz, just being like this with her. 

“What do you do in winter?” she asks when the joint’s almost done and she’s leaning her head back on the chair.

“Shovel off the back porch as much as I feel like, and freeze my ass off,” he says, grinning at her. “Smoke as fast as possible so I don’t get frostbite.”

“That’s a working fireplace in the living room, right?” His brow furrows, but he nods. She smiles and says, “Well, we’ll just have to get all cozy, then.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. Because he’s always thought ‘cozy’ is a ridiculous word, but he likes it here. He likes it because she’s implying they have a future past the change of seasons. And he isn’t surprised, really, but since they’re in this weird limbo stage, it’s sort of nice to have another bit of confirmation that she wants to _be_ with him. That it isn’t just attraction, or the fact he’s funny and makes her feel good about herself. 

“Yeah? Hot tea and all that? You wearing my clothes, maybe?”

She laughs a little, then, when she tosses the roach into the ashtray he keeps out here, she gets up, comes over and sits herself across his lap. Which...He likes it. A lot. It’s just…

“Allie,” he says, and it sounds like a warning, though she’s absolutely not doing anything wrong. Her arms go around his neck, though, and she leans against him. Yeah, they’re supposed to be taking this slow. That’s what they agreed to. Her on his lap feels like something different, even though she’s definitely not doing anything. 

“It’s fine,” she says, and he laughs a little, because he can’t even argue with that, can he? He just settles one hand onto her back and the other onto her thigh, and she grins like she’s pleased. “Tell me more about your family.”

They talk until past midnight, his thigh going numb under her but him not really caring. He plays with her hair as they trade stories and she asks him more questions about his childhood. She asks about his first kiss and tells him about hers. She asks what he looked like as a boy and he tells her he’ll show her pictures sometime. 

When she yawns twice in a minute and her eyes get all heavy, he asks her if she wants to stay and she gives him a look like he’s really tempting her, but she shakes her head. 

He puts her hand up under her chin outside, when her Lyft is pulling up. She makes this little sound into his mouth when he kisses her. When she gets home, she texts him that he made it really hard for her to leave. 

… … ...

They definitely should not be making out like this. All heated and handsy and heavy breathing like a couple fucking teenagers. But they met for a drink on a whim and they were close to his place and she asked if they could go talk where it’s more quiet. Then they stopped to get two slices of pie at this dessert place and when he came into the kitchen to put the kettle on and get plates and forks, she followed. 

And then pressed him against the counter, her hands on his face. So like, yeah. He’s good with it. He likes it. She’s fucking hot. Especially when he turns them, moves his thigh between her legs and hears the little sound she lets out, and…

His lips are on her collarbone when she says his name, one hand in his hair and the other on his back, just above the waist of his pants.

“Tea,” she finally says, as the little strap of her tank top falls down off her shoulder and he puts his mouth there instead. She tugs his head back a little, just gently by his hair. “ _Tea_. We came here for tea.”

He lets out his breath, closes his eyes. She’s right. They just got carried away. Which he thinks is a thing that’s gonna continue to happen. 

“What is it with us and this kitchen?” he asks, and she laughs softly, reaches up and brushes the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip. She’s wearing this pale pink lipstick and he’s assuming she’s wiping some away. He just looks down at her darkly. “I want you so fucking badly.”

It comes out low and soft, and Allie tilts her head like she wants him, too. The only thing stopping them is not wanting to rush. She doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore and they’re in the clear in literally every way except they’re trying to be smart. 

She’s breathing heavily, and his thigh is right there, and he can tell she’s considering it, trying to convince herself they can’t. He’s doing the same thing. 

“How bad could it be?” she asks, her eyes on his mouth again. Harry doesn’t think she’s talking about the sex, but the circumstances around them just going for it. 

He knows she’s talked to Will. Days ago they spoke on the phone and she told Harry that she confirmed with Will that they’re definitely broken up; that she doesn’t want them to be together. He doesn’t know any more of the details. He hasn’t spoken to Will but they’ve been texting. This hasn’t come up. And that means Harry owes the guy a conversation. They can’t just not address this. 

But Harry’s thinking about all this, and thinking about how he has her right here where he wants her, and _yeah_ , how bad could it be?

He pushes her hair back off her face and says, “Let’s go upstairs,” all quiet. 

She nods, then gives him the hottest smile he’s ever seen on a woman, leans all up against him, one arm around his neck. She presses her lips to his hotly, nips just gently at his bottom lip. 

She slips her hand into his and moves out from between him and the counter, turns the stove off as they leave the kitchen and head for his bedroom.

(They eat pie for breakfast in the morning, and she tastes like sugar when she straddles him, kisses the fuck out of him and tells him she can’t stop thinking about the way he made her feel last night. He likes this theme with her, when she talks about what he does to her, whatever that means in any given situation. He asks her to tell him more. He lets her talk until he can’t fucking stand it anymore.)

… … …

Will comes home on a Sunday morning, and Allie is not there. Because that would be fucked up, and Harry isn’t keen for things to be awkward. 

It’s still a little awkward. Harry’s reading with some music playing and Will walks through the door with all his luggage and lets out a sigh like he’s happy to be home. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and Will gives him a tight-lipped smile and says, “Hey.”

They look at each other a second, then Will says he’s going to go drop his stuff in his room and grab a shower. 

After, he comes downstairs and flops down on the couch facing Harry’s chair, and says, “Allie and I are done.”

Harry doesn’t know how he thought this would be brought up, but he thought they might shoot the shit about Will’s trip, or something. Even though he knows that would be awkward as hell and avoidant. He’s sort of glad they’re getting right to it. His anxiety would be through the roof if they didn’t. 

Harry thinks it’d be stupid to pretend he isn’t already aware of this, so he says, “I know,” and Will clenches his jaw.

Then he looks up at the ceiling and Harry just watches him. Waiting. 

“It’s not like I think we were perfect for each other,” Will says, and Harry closes his book. They’re _talking_ , talking. Not just glossing over shit. Which Harry’s fine with. Happy about, even. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I left. I know it makes me an asshole, but I think part of me wanted to stay with her because I knew you wanted her.” Okay, Harry doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say about that. “It’s fucked. I just...I liked that she picked me.”

Honestly, Harry gets it. It is fucked. That’s definitely true. But he gets it. It’s nice to know when you have something someone else wants. To some degree, that’s how it felt with Kelly when they’d be out and other people would notice her. Harry liked that she was his. He’d be lying if he said that’s why he let it go on as long as it did and he didn’t break up with her sooner. That’s not really the case. But it is something he knows he missed when they were over. 

But if he’s feeling protective of Allie, he sort of thinks Will’s a prick who was with her for the wrong reasons. That doesn’t really feel fair, though.

“Have you told her that?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why he cares, but also maybe he’s fishing to find out of Will and Allie have been as honest with each other as Harry and Allie have. 

Will shakes his head. “I don’t wanna hurt her feelings. We agreed to be friends.” He gives Harry a heavy look, loaded with all kinds of speculation on how they’re all going to interact. “I’m not mad.”

It sounds like a promise. Harry realizes very quickly that he’s relieved. 

“You’re not?” 

(He knows Will doesn’t know about the kiss in the Hamptons. That’s good, too. No need for his feelings to get hurt, either.)

Will shrugs, puts his hands behind his head. “It’s a messy situation, but no one was deliberately awful.” Harry laughs quietly, nods. It’s the truth. He’s pretty glad they’re all mature enough to get that. “And it seems like you two are gonna be a thing, and I don’t actually want to get in the way of that.”

Harry pauses, and they just look at each other, and then he almost tells Will he thinks he’s falling in love with her, but it feels messed up and too fast and also like something he doesn’t want anyone else to know before Allie knows. Not that he plans to tell Allie any time soon. Jesus, they’re not even officially a thing yet.

Instead he says, “I’m sorry,” because he thinks he should apologize. Not for his feelings, necessarily, but for how everything went down. For how he didn’t exactly stop any of it. But maybe there was no way to stop it. 

Will smiles back, just a little, and says, “Don’t,” and Harry thinks that’s honestly… “You didn’t fall for my girlfriend on purpose.”

And yeah, that’s just Will being a bit of a dick and teasing Harry. But it’s also Will telling Harry he can try to ignore it all he wants, but even without saying anything, Will knows him too well for him not to know exactly how Harry feels. 

Harry asks Will if he wants to order bagels from that place, and Will gives an emphatic _yes_ and then they talk about his trip, and maybe everything really will be fine, by some fucking miracle. Honestly, it’s not so much a miracle as just the fact that he and Will are best friends, old friends, and genuinely care about each other too much to let this screw them up. And he knows if it’d happened when they were younger, that’d be a different story. 

He texts Allie when he’s making coffee, tells her everything is fine - everything is going to be fine - and she sends back three exclamation points and then asks when she’ll see him next.

… … …

The first time he stays over at Allie’s, it’s all planned out, and it’s a Friday night, and they go on a _date_ \- dinner and a movie, because she thinks it’s funny - and he ends up in her bed, his overnight bag next to her dresser. She’s all pressed up against his chest, her hair kind of in his face. Her bedroom feels like her, right down to the vase of sunflowers she has on this little table next to the window. She says something about going to brunch in the morning, and he nods and tells her to think of a spot and they’ll go. 

In the morning, he emerges from her room when she’s in the shower, and Cassandra’s standing in the kitchen with a little grin on her lips, a mug in her hand as she moves her tea bag back and forth. 

“Hi, Harry,” she says, like she’s trying to embarrass him, or something. He doesn’t know why she’d think he’d be embarrassed for getting what he’s wanted all along. “Sleep well?”

He wants to roll his eyes, so he does. She just laughs. 

“Like a baby.”

She pats him on the shoulder as she walks by, goes to sit on the sofa and reaches for the remote. She puts on some home improvement or house flipping show, or something, and tells him there’s instant coffee in the cupboard, and the kettle should still be hot. 

When Allie comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her and her hair all wet over her shoulders, she smiles when she sees the two of them on opposite ends of the sofa. 

“Don’t get sucked in,” she tells him, and he doesn’t know what that means. “These shows are addictive and like, all she watches.”

Cassandra acts offended, but Harry just chuckles and promises not to blow off their plans to watch this lady renovate this old house in Austin, or whatever. 

He’s a little surprised she doesn’t invite Cassandra to come with them. He mentions it when they’re on the street, and she just loops her arm around his waist and says, “Maybe I just want you all to myself. You ever think of that?”

He lets out a hum, leans over, and tells her, “Spend a lot of time thinking about it, actually.”

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and he just laughs and asks where she’s taking him.

… … …

They go to the Hamptons on a whim, drive out early one Saturday morning when she wakes him up at 6am and tells him she wants the beach. Labour Day weekend is looming, just a week away, and Allie says she can have a bag packed in 15 minutes and they should do it, go before it’s all busy. In the car, after they stop at his and get some things (though she tells him all he needs is swim trunks and a toothbrush and they can pretty much stay undressed the rest of the time) he asks her if she wants to go next weekend, too. Allie shrugs her shoulder but he can tell she wants to say yes.

They spend the day by the water - her begging him to come in with her when he gets too hot, him liking the way it feels to have his hands on her under the water, liking the way she lets him kiss her as the waves push them a little. Then, she convinces him to have a shower together because it’ll save time, though the look he gives her is very clearly communicating that them together in the shower is not going to do anything but make him want her. (In the end, they don’t even make it under the spray before his hand is between her legs, her against the bathroom counter. So the shower isn’t that long, and she’s definitely smug about it even though he thinks they were both a little right.) 

They go to town for dinner, walk around a little and she rolls her eyes when he’s coming out of a store with a six pack of this cider she recommended. There’s a group of women their age nearby and they’re staring, talking about him. He can tell Allie’s not really _bothered_ , but he can also tell she really likes the way he kisses her, puts his arm around her shoulder to make it really clear they're together. 

He wakes up alone in the morning, her side of the bed empty and turned down, her gone when he reaches for her. 

He finds her in the kitchen in a cute bikini he’s never seen before, her hip against the counter, her phone in one hand and a toasted bagel in the other. He may be grinning as he walks towards her, and she looks up and has just a little cream cheese on her lip that she uses her tongue to swipe away. 

Instead of, _“Good morning,”_ he says, “Let’s stay in,” and sets his hands on her hips, pulls her against him and leans in so his lips are on her neck. 

“No,” she says, and he takes that shit seriously, so he stops, rests his forehead there, and she laughs a little. “You want some of this bagel?”

“Not what I want right now, no.”

“Harry,” she whines, pushing at his shoulders a little. She holds the bagel to his mouth, so he has a bite to appease her. “I wanna be in the sun. And eat chowder from that place you told me about.”

He nods, says, “Okay,” after he’s swallowed, and only lets go of her so he can make a coffee. She’s watching him, though, continuing to eat her breakfast in silence. He can see her looking, so he finally just tilts his head a little to let her know she’s been caught. “What?”

“What?” she echoes, which makes him laugh. “You look good.”

His brow goes up. “Yeah?” She shrugs a little, and he looks her up and down. He thinks she’s on board with staying in now, or could be if he spent just a bit more time trying to convince her. Whatever. He’s pretty sure they could do his thing first and then hers.

“Get dressed,” she says, slides the other half of the bagel towards him and sets her mug in the sink. “I’ll be on the beach.” She leans up to kiss his jaw quickly before walking to the back of the house and slipping out the door. He watches her go. “Come find me.”


End file.
